Page 71 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“Kiss me,” James orders, a grunted command.
I kiss him. God, do I kiss him.
Until I can’t function or breathe or do anything but shudder as he glides in, slowly, slowly. And then, once I’ve come down momentarily from the dizziness of accommodating his size inside me, I kiss him again, sipping and nipping at his mouth, nibbling his lower lip, tasting his tongue. When he pushes in once more, I dissolve into shuddering whimpers, writhing helplessly around him.
He pulls his head back to look into my eyes, assessing me. Still so worried—worried he’s hurting me. “Say something dammit,” he snarls. “I need you to say something.”
I writhe on him, locking eyes, and claw my fingers into his shoulders and clamp my thighs around him with all my strength. Showing him how strong I am.
I have one word for him. “More,” I breathe.
He laughs, disbelieving. A thrust, this time his hands just hold me in place, spreading me open for him as he drives in, not slowly but still with a measured pace. “Like that?”
I shake my head. “No, god—James…please.” I find an angle, find leverage, hold on and lift up and sink down around him, whimpering through clenched teeth as I take him and move harder and faster, slamming my hips down hard to take him and take him and take him, showing him how I want him. “Like that.”
He snarls, and we’re animals together, lost in this primal connection. He matches me, meets me and now I feel him letting go. Feel the wild abandon in the way he claws at my ass to lift me and lets go so I crash down with a slap of meeting bodies.
He staggers in a circle, finds the bed. Drops forward. I’m on my back now and I don’t let go with any part of me. He buries his face in my breasts, and I press my elbows together so my breasts mound up around his face. His hips move in gentle circles, and then he pulls his face out of my cleavage and his mouth finds mine and his tongue slashes and our lips tangle, and we find each other in mutual groaning ragged cries of delirious perfection.
“Nova?” he breathes. “I—ohh god, oh god, fuck—Nova, I can’t stop.”
I nip at his earlobe. “Why the hell would you stop?”
“We’re bare.”
I groan. “Fuck!”
“Yeah.”
He’s still moving, and I’m still caught in the rapture of need. But awareness filters through—I stopped taking any kind of birth control a long time ago—when I knew I wasn’t going to be having sex with anyone, I saw no reason to take it.
We have to stop.
I whimper. “James. God, how do we stop? How do we stop?”
“I’m not taking that risk,” he murmurs. “We’re not covered, are we?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not on anything.”
“Fuck,” he growls, the word a growled curse under his breath.
Then, with a violent wrench, he rolls off me, off the bed, and staggers away from me. Struggle is etched in every line of his body. I’m shaky—I was seconds from coming.
So was he.
I can’t let it end like this. I get off the bed, my legs not working properly. All I know is I need him, I can’t let it be over like that, unsatisfied, in agony, doing the right thing for both of us when I can’t even remember my own name.
I push at his shoulder, and he turns, his expression fraught.
“If I so much as look at you, Nova…” he threatens. “You so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll explode.”
I have no idea what to do, how to fix this. “James, I…”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just…just give me a second.”
He’s aching, straining. Taut and glistening with my essence. Heavy and thick and leaking.
I drop to my knees, and he shakes his head. “No, Nova. No.”
“I want to.” I gaze up at him, my hands on his quads. “I’m going to, because I want to.”
He shakes his head. “Nova…” I take him in my hands, and he grunts, tensing. “I’m fuckin’ serious, Nova. Don’t. I’m fine.”
“I’m not fine,” I say, and I stroke him. “It’s not about that. I know you’d be fine. That’s not the point.”
He grunts again as I flick my tongue against the tip of him. “Then what’s—ohhh fuck—then what is the point?”
I grin up at him. “That I want you.”
“I want you too. I just want to come with you.”
I laugh, teasing him with another flick of my tongue up the underside of him. “You will.”
“Nova…” he breathes. “Oh god. You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.” I lick him again. I love the taste of him. It’s been so, so long since I’ve done this, and I’m glad, because it feels kind of like the first time all over again. New and daring and nerve-racking and exciting. “I want to.”
